“The people she saw in England, they must have been following us the entire time,” John murmurs, looking at the dagger.
“It should have never made it back to its fucking owner,” Richard states, looking a bit pale himself, and the way his eyes keep going to where Robyn is laid out while people work over her, clues me to why.
My lips press up. “I plan on making sure it’s returned to him. Imbedded deep in his chest.”
Richards grin is dark as he shakes his head, but then looks back, keeping his attention on Robyn.
“She’s going to be okay,” a voice says from above us.
It's the doctor.
She speaks in a thick accent, “some bruising, and extreme dehydration. Most of the drugs were merely a sedative, but there are traces of others I can’t identify out here, but at the hospital with further testing.”
I speak the words I don’t fucking want to know, but somone had to ask. “What else?”
She knows what I’m asking.
Her voice is clinical as her jaw clicks. “Hard to determine for sure because we will need to do a rape kit. I can tell from the brief examination I’ve done she has some bruising and injury, but that could be due to a myriad of reasons.”
“Keep us updated,” Richard requests.
“Are you the closest family?” The doctor looks at John, who is the closest.
I speak the truth. “We’re her fiances.”
The woman’s eyes widen, but after a quick nod, she’s gone. I breathe in, shaking my head. Fiances was too small of a fucking word for what we are, but it will have to do for now. I close my eyes as I run through everything I need to do to make sure our tracks are covered when we kill him.
Because mark my words, we will fucking kill him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Robyn
I wake to an annoying beeping sound. Has Reynolds decided to switch up his fucked up nursery songs for something more annoying? As the pattern I’ve been waking to the last couple days, I gaze around my surroundings with fear and trepidation, but this is not the fucked up Barbie playhouse. I’m lying in a real bed, well a hospital bed, but it’s fucking real with real slightly scatchy sheets and blankets. I’m no longer wearing some 50’s dress or old motif costumes, but a hospital gown that ties in the back with tiny squares printed all over it. The walls are all white, and they’re real walls, not that plastic shit I’ve been subjected to the past couple of days. The beeping sound belongs to the equipment monitoring my vitals, which I guess is a good sign as it shouts I’m alive. There are a bunch of tubes and wires going through my arm, connecting me to an IV pumping much needed fluids in my system. I’m alive. I’ve made it out. My men got me out. I didn’t break. I’m free.
There's a chair pulled up to my bed, and a familiar dark head of hair is passed out over my legs, pinning them down. His head is tilted in what can’t be a comfortable angle. As the sunlight streams through the actual glass windows, I stare down at the perfection that is Richard York. His hair is messy, and his normally press free atire is wrinkled with a spackle of blood in places. Briefly I remember Archie yelling at him to not kill the Senator, so it’s safe to say that’s not his blood on his clothing. Not being able to help myself, I reach out and run my fingers through his thick locks, and immediately he wakes. My fingers transfixed by the silky texture of his hair.
Silver eyes meet my hazel green as he stares at me so deeply, I feel like he can see my soul.
“Thank you for coming for me,” I tell him at the exact same time he says, “I love you.”
The room is quiet. At his declaration, I’m shell-shocked. I’ve never thought Richard York was capable of love, but here he is, saying those three fucking words. My chest seizes up as I blink back tears. I’ve treated him badly. Blamed him for things that wasn’t in his control, yet through it all, he never gave up on me. He’s always been there for me, I realized this now, and I didn’t think it was capable to fall even deeper for him, but I have. I’m shocked yes, but I’m also elated. When I said I would tell the guys exactly how I feel, I meant it. Time is not guaranteed. This experience has more than proven that to me.
“Good because I fucking love you too,” I tell him without a inch of fear, and he smiles. And it’s so fucking breathtaking that if I were to die right now, I would die a happy women.
“What about us? Do you love us too, little bird?” John asks softly from the doorway, holding a tray full of, what I’m guessing is, coffee and a brown paper bag of food . Archie is close on his heels holding his cell to his ear, but his eyes are fully focused on me. Didn’t I already come to the conclusion I was in? No point in backing down now.
“Yes,” I answer with a hoarse voice. “I love you all.”
Then, because I can’t help myself, I add on a rushed continuation, “I want to be with all of you until the end of time. I’ve licked you, you’re mine, and when we die, I’ll chase your souls down until we’re reborn together again in an endless cycle of love. You don’t have a choice. Sorry.” Dramatic. I know. I’m starting to think I’ve funneled some of Richard’s possessiveness, but each word is the absolute truth. Anything else would be downplaying how much they mean to me. Yes, we will face challenges like our families and what others would think, but I really don’t give a flying fuck. I’ve found the same love my father had with my birth mom, and I’ll never give it up for anyone.
I was totally expressing all of my repressed emotions today. This was healthy and very unhealthy at the same time. Just like with Richard, a big ass smile crosses their faces, and they all gather in the room, surrounding my bed.
“What the fuck?!” I hear someone yell from Archie’s phone.
“Sheriff, man. I’m going to have to call you back,” Archie says, pretending not to smile into the line before hanging up, not bothering to hear my brother’s response.
“So,” I raise my brows, “what the fuck is going on?”
The guys fill me in on everything that happened. Everything from when I was taken to when I was finally found. I'm glad to hear my brother is safe and sound, and judging by his tone on the phone, he’s doing well. I know him, and he and I will be having a long conversation later, but for now he can stew about it in Germany until the hospital there decides to discharge him. Right now, I’m with my guys, and I don’t want anyone, not even my own family, to ruin it.
When they’re done telling me everything they went through to get me back, I knew it was my turn. As much as I want to tell them I didn’t go through much, they’re not naive or stupid, plus they already saw part of it when they broke me out, so I tell them everything that happened from day one to day five. My voice is raw and I feel gross, but God I never want to take a fucking bath again. I don’t want to see their expressions while I talk because I’ll break if I do.
I tell them about the Senator’s multiple personalities, and about his fucked up childhood with an equally fucked up mother, who made her son the insane man he is today. How he would revert back to a childlike state and take me through his childhood horrors. His routine he subjected me to, and every foul and fucked up thing he did to my body.
I let them know about the bodies buried in the tombs in France, and the disgusting display he has set up there. The pictures he took of me in the eclectic Playboy bunny costume. By the end of it, my tears are streaming down my face, and my fear of dying and losing them shines in my eyes, especially when I tell them how each night he would beat me, violate me, and write a letter to the word ‘whore’ on my skin. I’m thankful that he didn’t have his dagger sooner, because as of now, there’s only a very faint scaring, the start of the ‘W’ and half of the ‘H’. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to see the full word everyday, nor do I want to think about the reappearance of the dagger, and who delivered it. In my head, the ‘W’ stood for ‘win’. Luckily, the doctors said it will fade in time, and Rich, with his miracle connections, just said I don’t have to worry because he’s already contacted someone with a mira
cle cream that will make it fade in a week.
Through it all, each of them stay close, holding me. Richard, not giving two shits about the hospital rules, is in the bed with me, holding me tightly to his bare chest. He’s taken his blood spackled shirt off, knowing I wouldn’t want any of Reynolds’ nastiness anywhere near me. Archie has his palm over my leg, caressing it, and John is at my back with his head cocooned at the side of my neck. All our scents are mixed together, and it gives me a sense of calm and security, like these strong men will chase away all of my demons and keep me safe. When I’m done, I’m exhausted and as I start to drift off, I whisper how much I love them again before sleep takes me.
I bolt up in my bed screaming, lost in my nightmare. A strong pair of hands hold me pinned, and I thrash against them, fighting like hell. No, not this time. I will not be a victim, I will escape.
“Let me go,” I scream furiously, trying to push the body away.
“Red, it’s me. You’re having a bad dream again,” he coos, trying to calm me.
“Richard,” I cry out in a small weak voice.
Pushing past the darkness, my eyes open wide and I’m confronted with his intense stare as he tries to gently pin me down. Immediately, I stop fighting and throw myself at his body, submerging my nose in his neck so I can breathe in his familiar scent. I’ve been home for a week, not at my brother’s brownstone, but the gorgeous home I’ve been lusting after before this whole being kidnapped ordeal happened. The three days they kept me in the hospital for observation, I was fine. All my men stayed continuously by my side, only leaving long enough to shower and change their clothes, and bring back meals since none of us were too ecstatic over the hospital food.
I soaked up their strength as I healed, and was even able to eat and drink again without difficulty. Reynolds had done a number on my body. I have a plethora of bruises covering my body, including severe bruising to the tissue in my throat and vay-jay-jay. One cracked rib on my right side, shallow bite marks on my breasts and nipples, withdrawls from whatever drug he was giving me, and severe dehydration. While in the hospital the staff was able to get my dehydration under control, and applied a medicated cream to heal the inner bruising of my vag and breast, they also gave me some of the good drugs to help stave off the pain in my ribs, but wouldn’t prescribed me any when I was discharged because of the withdrawls. They didn’t want to chance me becoming addicted to painkillers.
Once I was released and brought home is when we learned I’ve developed PTSD from my experience. The very first night I woke up screaming my head off and attacked both John and Rich. Archie was lucky to not be there. He stayed in Brazil to deal with Reyonlds, making sure he’s exported back to the States and into custody without any issues. With Richard’s connections, a highly trained security team was kept on hand to help Archie just in case any issues did arise. We know Reynolds has people working for him, we just don’t know who. Just like we don’t know who that other security team was that I saw back in England, or who retrieved the dagger for him. This whole scheme to kidnap me was too elaborate for Reynolds to be working alone. Richard also has people looking into that as well. Honestly, it all sort of hurt my head and I really just wanted to fucking kill the guy.
“It’s ok, baby, you’re safe,” John says, jogging into the room. He must have rushed out the shower when he heard me screaming. He’s dripping wet with a towel wrapped low on his hip.
Walking over to the other side, he grabs my hand since I’m still wrapped in Richard’s body.
“It’s always the fucking same. Literally. He’s fucking me, calling me ‘mommy’, and all while you guys watch,” I murmur softly against Richard’s skin.
“He’ll never get his hands on you again,” Richard growls, his chest rumbles with his words.
“Richard’s right. You are safe, Robyn. This place is locked up tighter than fucking Fort Knox, hell honey, I don’t think you can even break in here. You know we’ll fucking destroy anyone who would tries to hurt you,” John adds as he rubs tiny circles over my hand. He’s rambling and it’s cute, but also reveals how worried he is.
I hate how weak I’ve become, but fuck. This is just how real life works. You get taken by a psycho and go through everything I’ve went through, then tell me how sane you are. A part of me feels bad for the Senator. A very small, miniscule part. If it weren’t for the horrific abuse he suffered as a child from his mother, he may have grown up to be a decent person. Another part, a much larger part that’s been consuming all my being, day and night, wants my revenge. I’m glad Richard beat the shit out of him. I’m even happier Archie had him keep Reynolds alive because I want him to heal from his bruises and be clear eyed when I come for him and extract my vengeance. I haven’t told my men this yet. I don’t know how they’ll react to it. If I had to guess, I would say Richard would be all for it. Hell, he’ll even help. It’s John and Archie’s reactions I’m unsure about. I think John would let me do it, making sure he’s there the whole time to protect me. Archie on the other hand, probably wouldn’t be okay with it. He’s all about justice being served, and has absolute faith in the court system. I don’t. I’ve seen too many people with enough money get away with murder, pun intended. Plus Reynolds has a good shot at the insanity plea. I’m not taking my chances. I’ll liberate myself and take him out as painfully as possible. I’ll even return the favor and make sure he suffers for five days first.
While in the hospital, my father paid me a visit. He wasn’t surprised at all to see all my men there or how protective over me they were. Knowing him, he probably already knew. My father is very good at keeping himself well informed. We had a long private conversation after he kicked the guys out. He was extremely worried about me when he learned both my brother and I went missing. Along with Richard’s people, he also has his own looking into the matter. He wasn’t judgemental about me wanting to be with three guys. He told me if I found a love like the one he had with my mother, it’s worth pissing off a couple close minded individuals to be with one another. He also pointed out that I still have to marry Richard, unless we wanted to go through the process of breaking the legal contract, but he suggested we should have two ceremonies. It seemed like a lot of work since I was going to marry the fucker anyway. So two ceremonies it was. The public one where Richard will make me his wife for the world to see, and a private one with just family, where I’ll marry all three of them. Not legally of course, since it’s illegal, but sentimentally.
It’s a brilliant idea just like the brilliant man who came up with it.
Did I tell you how much I adore my father? I hate he’s always away for business, but I get it. If I ever lost any of my guys, I would keep myself busy too, just so I'm too consumed with work to think about them. I even broke down and told him how mean my evil stepmom was to me while he was away, and how much she belittled me because I looked so much like my mother. I could tell he was pissed, but he’s better at controlling his emotions than I am. Kissing me on the forehead he leaves. Afterwards, it takes a while for my men to come back into the room which leaves me to believe he’s having the ‘don’t hurt my daughter or I’ll hunt you down and kill you’ speech. I believe him, honestly.
Richard shifts my body so I’m laying on top of him on my stomach now while John gets in the bed and throws his arm around my waist. Neither men care that they’re touching. While they were out looking for me, they all grew very close with my happiness as the common thread. They both hold me close to them, and my body calms as I’m wrapped in their warmth. The ring and chain Richard gave me still hangs snugly around my neck. I’m surprised through this whole ordeal that I still have it. I’m happy that through all of Reynolds’ craziness, he didn’t try to take it away from me. Wrapped in both my men, I drift back into a blissful dreamless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Robyn
I never thought Christmas could feel like this. Would feel so light hearted and stunning. My father decided to hold a family dinner and celebration
at the large estate I grew up in. As we drive up, Archie at the wheel of our Cadillac SUV, my eyes scan the massive dark stone estate with a filled circular driveway. The city is amazing, but something about my father’s estate always has me feeling sentimental, despite my bitch of a stepmother.
It only started snowing yesterday, yet there’s a thick, white, glittering layer over everything that leaves me smiling. My skin, still bruised and healing, feels better in the dark green cashmere dress I’m wearing with tights and flats. It’s far more casual than I’d normally do, but when I was getting ready, brushing out my long thick hair and pulling out my makeup, I found I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to wear makeup. Partly because of Reynolds’ dress up games. The other part though?
I’m starting to feel more comfortable in my own skin.
It probably should have been the opposite. You go through something so traumatic and feel awful about yourself, but I didn’t. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I feel fucking awful, but I know this wasn’t my fault, and the constant affirmations from my fiances, soon to be husbands, encouraged me to feel more positive. Plus, John walked into the bathroom, taking my concealer from me. Bastard. So here I am, feeling much more comfortable than normal, tucked into my long wool jacket with a pair of dark gloves and a Burberry scarf.
I breath in the fresh air as we step out of the car, my eyes flirting over the garland and lights. My father does it big every year. Just like my mom would have wanted it. Archie kisses my temple and walks toward the front door, his dark jacket complimenting his messy blonde hair and bright smile. I love the bastard, and the twinkle in his now black eye, tells me he won’t forget it. He’s even taken a step back from the law firm, just to make sure I'm okay.
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